It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

Unity sounds nice, but truth is we need freedom to go our own ways
My love of ‘fur friends’ stems from the callousness I saw in my father
Alternative cultures exist because mainstream culture is alienating
Miss. church turns back clock by refusing to marry black couple
Though it’s helpful to have talent, that won’t guarantee success
Shame almost got me fired — and shame still haunts me years later
We often act like madmen who’re eagerly bent on self-destruction
A tax on folks who can’t do math? Winning may be worst possibility